


Broomstick Cowboy

by jupiter_james



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bull Riding, Cowboy AU, Cowboy Dean Winchester, Dean rides Larry, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang, Enemies to Lovers, HARD, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Animal Injury, Rodeo AU, but the horse is fine, character injury, manager Sam Winchester, misuse of cowboy hats, mutual pining and mutual being pissed off about it, no supernatural, ranch owner Castiel, steer wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: Dean Winchester is one of the finest circuit riders of his generation, right after his legendary father. He's got the life he loves, with the exception of one thing - one person: his biggest sponsor, Castiel Milton. Despite being a ranch owner, Milton is only interested in one thing, and that's making money, even at the expense of animals past their prime. At least, that's what Dean's animosity has been lead to believe. However, coming face to face with his misunderstanding makes him reevaluate a lot of things, including his feelings for Castiel.For the Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2018!





	Broomstick Cowboy

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks in the world to the awesome artist, [Cardinaleyes](http://cardinaleyes.tumblr.com/)! She was amazing to work with, and completely understanding of the time crunch I was under because I was a pinch-hitter for her piece! It was so much fun to craft a story for. I love rodeo culture, and she really let me have my head on this one. Her art is so beautiful and was so easy to think up a story for. Thank you so much!
> 
> And thank you to my bestie and beta, [ltleflrt](http://ltleflrt.tumblr.com) who always helps me out and gives me the best advise and comments on my process. Thank you! As always, nothing of mine would get written without you.

 

 

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/jupiter143/42065727844/in/dateposted-public/)

Art by [Cardinaleyes](http://cardinaleyes.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr

 Some mornings Dean Winchester can feel the years eating at him, skin, muscle and bone. Days when the sun comes up over the dusty horizon right into his eyes to wake him with the sharp reminder of how old he’s getting.

This morning, his bones creak and pop a little bit more than normal as he stretches and sits up, rubbing his face vigorously with a moan. At least he can smell coffee brewing. That means that Sam is already awake and finishing up packing for their trip to Montana.

Dean groans again and pushes himself up to stand, bracing his lower back and arching his spine until it cracks in what feels like a dozen places. _Whew._ Much better. He shuffles out of the room and down the stairs, not bothering to put on any clothes yet, save for the boxers and white t-shirt that he’d slept in. Sure enough, he finds Sam cooking eggs and bacon, with a mug of coffee already waiting for him on the kitchen table.

“‘Morning,” Sam says brightly.

Dean grumbles a greeting and sips at the dark roast. “What time we gotta leave today?”

“Soon as we can,” Sam answers, turning from the stove with the skillet to plate them up their breakfast. “Since you’re still refusing to fly, it’ll take about twenty hours to get to Bozeman. Bobby called and said he’ll get there this afternoon with Baby. Plenty of time to get her settled at the stables and ready.”

“Flying ain’t worth it,” Dean says for the millionth time. “If we take turns we can probably get close to Wyoming before stopping.” He flips the dining chair around backwards and straddles it while he loads his omelet with ketchup.

“You know, statistically speaking, fewer people die flying every year than-”

“-I swear to God, Sammy. It’s too early for that shit.”

“Just sayin’,” Sam finishes, sitting down across from his older brother and digging into his breakfast. But seeing Dean’s sour face pulls him off topic with a quickness. “How’s the knee?” he asks idly.

Dean automatically reaches down to rub his left knee, the product of a pretty nasty fall a couple seasons ago that had never set quite right afterwards. “‘S’okay,” he mumbles around a mouthful of eggs, tomatoes, and green peppers. “Little stiff as always, but it’ll survive a few more rounds.”

Sam smiles. “Yeah, just making sure. I’ll take first shift driving.”

Dean can’t help smiling back. Sam always tries his best to keep from pissing him off in the mornings. They are pretty literal night and day as far as sleep schedules are concerned, and Sam is the patient and understanding sort, but certainly not enough to trust his older brother behind the wheel before several cups of coffee. Probably a good call. There’s only one thing more precious to Dean than his horse, and that’s his car. If he fell asleep and drove the Impala into a ditch, he’d never forgive himself. “You got it, man.”

Sam takes his time eating, flicking his gaze up to Dean every now and then until Dean, still with eyes on his plate, sighs. “What’s with the looks? You got something to say?”

“Not really,” Sam answers, swirling the coffee around in his mug for a minute. Then he tilts his head slightly. “Just... I heard you talking to Bobby the other day.”

Dean puts his fork down and rests his forearms on the back of the chair, leveling his little brother with a pointed stare. “So?”

“So... are you really retiring next year?”

Dean exhales a long breath through his nose. “Dunno. Not for sure. Honestly? I’m starting to feel a bit old these days, little brother.”

Sam smiles despite himself. “I get that. You’ve been pretty roughed up by the circuit. After last year, I was wondering when you might start thinking about retirement. Any ideas about what you’ll do after?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe just do what I usually do in the off season and help Bobby out. He could use an extra pair of hands.”

“Yeah, he’s not a spring chicken anymore, either.”

They sit in silence for another minute, Sam staring thoughtfully out the kitchen window behind Dean’s head, and Dean polishing off the rest of his breakfast. “You’re worried about something.”

Sam’s smile widens. “The opposite, actually. I’m proud of you, Dean.”

With a smirk against the lip of his mug, Dean says, “what the hell?”

“Nah, it’s like... you’ve done this for so long and part of me thought you wouldn’t give it up until it killed you. But, in reality, you’re thinking about the future, and that’s awesome.”

“I’m hardly John Wayne,” Dean snorts. “Plus, I’ve been going hell for leather for fifteen years now. That’s a long damn time in this line of work.”

“You only wish,” Sam teases. “Regardless, it’s a big deal. Anyway, go get dressed. We need to shove off. I’ll put the rest of the coffee in the travel mugs.”

Dutifully, Dean tromps back to his room to dress and grab his suitcase, brooding all the while. It’s not like he wants to, but after last year? Retirement might be the better part of valor. His sponsors won’t like it, and the rest of his family won’t like it, but a major injury sure does make a man reevaluate his priorities.

Too bad he hasn’t planned that far in the future, though. It’s not like he thought he would spend forever in the circuit. No one ever does. It’s only that he loves it too much to imagine himself anywhere else.

He shakes his head. Those are dim thoughts for another day. Today is a day for the open road, which is his second favorite place to be after the back of his horse.

Of course, they’ve only gotten through the A side of Dean’s favorite Zepp Traxx cassette before Sam clears his throat, turns down the volume, and apropos of nothing as always, says, “so, I got an email from Cain Milton.”

Dean turns his head away from the window where he’d been studying the scenery. “Yeah? He gonna put in an appearance at the rodeo?”

“That’s... well, that’s the thing. He’s, um... retired. Officially.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “What? No! How the hell? Dude, Cain is retiring? How’s that possible? Everyone thought he’d die in the saddle. He said he would!”

Sam rolls his shoulders and adjusts his hands on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I know. But he figured his kids are able to take over for him at the ranch. And they want to, so...”

Rolling his eyes, Dean’s head flops back onto the headrest. “Shit, man, that sucks! Okay, so who’s in charge this year? Our contract with them’s big.”

Nodding, Sam says, “I know. That’s why I wanted to warn you. Castiel is inheriting your contract.”

“No,” Dean bites immediately. “Nope. No, Sam. Hell, no. You can’t do this to me, man. Cain can’t do this to me! I thought we were friends! Why is he punishing me?”

Sam huffs through his nose, lips pinched. “Dean, it’s not like that, and you know it.”

“I don’t fucking know that. Castiel Milton is a piece of shit. I don’t want him managing me. Hell, I don’t want him anywhere near me.”

Sam shoots his brother a sour look. “You’re gonna have to bury the hatchet with him eventually. He’s not a bad person.”

“Sure, yeah, whatever. He just doesn’t know a freaking thing about managing a breeding ranch. He hates rodeos. He acts like he’s better than everyone else because he’s in charge of the payroll. He wanted to put down a lamed horse that he was responsible for!”

He slams his hand on the dash to the tune of Sam’s muttered, “come on, Dean.”

“Do I need to go on? ‘Cause I can go on, Sam. Castiel Milton doesn’t have a shred of decency for people, and especially not for animals. He’s gonna run his daddy’s farm into the ground, and I don’t wanna be a part of that. He’s not interested in Cain’s business. Why aren’t any of the others taking over?”

Sam looks more and more like he’s sucked on a lemon as Dean keeps talking, but he doesn’t openly deny any of it. “I hear what you’re saying. And I’m not arguing with what you think. But I also don’t think that Castiel is going to run Whitewood out of business. All of the kids are picking up the slack like they’ve always done. Cain got much less active in recent years, right? He’d just been doing the books. Castiel is an accountant. That’s what he’ll be doing. Gabriel and Anna will still be doing most of the heavy lifting.”

“Then why can’t one of them come to the rodeo? Gabe’s a shithead, but he managed me just fine in Texas when Cain was out.”

“Can’t you just give him a chance?” Sam pleads. “I mean, Anna will probably be there, too just in case, but she does the runarounds like I do. You’re retiring, anyway. You can suck it up just this once.”

“Clearly you don’t know me at all.”

Sam barks a laugh. “It was worth a try. Plus, you bought that horse! No harm no foul for man or beast.”

“It says a lot about a person,” Dean counters. “His attitude sucks, and so does he.”

“Gosh, I hope you don’t use that as your greeting, and just choose to say ‘hello,’” Sam says sarcastically. “You can hate each other all you want in your private time, but put on a good front, okay? Try to remember that you’re famous.”

Dean slouches lower in his seat. “Who cares?” he mutters. “I haven’t changed my mind about retiring in the last hour.”

“Dude,” Sam counters. “That doesn’t matter! You’re kind of a legend in the circuit. People are gonna remember your name for a long time. So if you play your cards right, especially in your last season, you’ll get years of kickbacks. The sponsor’s will keep branding you, and you’ll have enough money to put away that you could afford to retire to Oak Park like you wanted.”

Dean grins slow and mischievous. “Yeah, long as Mildred is still there. She always said she liked my ass in chaps.”

Sam laughs. “That woman is gonna outlive us all.”

“Damn right,” Dean agrees. “Okay, fine. I hear ya, Sammy. I’ll make nice with Milton, but I ain’t gonna put up with any shit he decides to pull. I might be famous, but I got my pride. And someone’s gotta look out for the animals.”

“I promise I’m not asking for miracles,” Sam says pragmatically. “Just keep it civil in public.”

“Done,” Dean says, if only to be able to flip the tape over and stop thinking about Castiel Fucking Milton for the rest of the drive. If his good mood has to end - and it always does around that bastard - he’ll hold onto it for the rest of the drive as much as he can.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

For as much as Castiel Milton loves Montana, he sincerely wishes that he could be anywhere else right now. He’s not a fan of rodeos. Less a fan of the crowds. Least a fan of the roughneck circuit riders he has to suck up to in order for his family’s breeding and training ranch to remain operational. And as the family member with the accounting degree, he’s the one losing sleep over the revenue. It’s not bad by any stretch of the imagination, but the glittery glory days are definitely over in this economy.

His family’s whole business model is a luxury commodity these days, and while he realizes it’s irrational, and many of the things affecting their business are out of his control, he still often feels like it’s his failing that the profits are being driven down.

Then again, as he wanders the dusty parade grounds that are shortly to be filled with hundreds of people, tents, games, animals, it’s hard to imagine that anything’s really changed. The crowds still come. The athletes still compete. Castiel still breeds some of the best animals in the country, and sponsors the best competitors.

He’s halfway to the stables on the far side of the parking lot when his cell phone rings. He digs it out of his pocket, Gabriel’s smirking selfie grinning at him. He swipes over it and presses the phone to his ear with an audible sigh.

“Gabriel,” he says.

“Awesome howdy, little bro! How’s big sky country?”

Castiel kicks a pebble with his scuffed cowboy boots as he continues his trek. “Sunny. A little cold. Why are you bothering me?”

Gabriel chuckles. “Because I like talking to you when you’re just off a plane. So freaking cranky.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Castiel answers irritably.

“Oh, don’t be that way!” Gabriel argues. “You know we gotta run the numbers and all.”

“Then maybe you should tell me where the hell you are, so that you can come and do your job here, too.”

Gabriel laughs, completely unrepentant. “Someone’s gotta keep this taco stand running in your absence, right? I’ll be there at the end of the week to help you back up. Plus, you haven’t been out of the office in weeks. I suspect a vitamin D deficiency is what’s making you so moody. Is Anna there yet?”

Castiel glances around the largely empty parade grounds instinctively, even though he’s fairly certain he won’t spot her. “I have no idea, but I’m heading towards the stables now.”

“Okey doke! I’m emailing you the itinerary. Don’t miss your lunch dates!” He makes a wet smacking kiss noise that crackles over the line, causing Castiel to jerk the phone away from his ear in disgust.

“Gabriel,” he says after a moment. “Why do you have me sucking up to the clients again? Didn’t we agree to invite them all to Wyoming? Remember how you said letting them see our space would entice them more than my... what did you call it? Oh, yes. ‘Sour candy personality.’”

Gabriel laughs. “I can actually hear your air quotes. Look, kiddo. This is good PR. And less expense. Won’t hurt you to wine and dine three of them here. Harvelle, Lafitte, and Winchester. Easy peasy.”

A coiling of dread fills the pit of Castiel’s stomach. Winchester. Of course. He should have known. “I almost lost us the Winchester contract a few years ago because Dean hates me,” he points out, though he’s positive that Gabriel hasn’t forgotten that tiny little fact. “Gabriel, what have you done?” he asks flatly.

“Yeah,” Gabriel says wonderingly, completely ignoring the second part of the question. “How did that even happen? I mean, you’re prickly, but you’re not usually mean. That’s my gig. You’re supposed to be good cop.”

Castiel stops a few yards short of the stables, leaning against the fence wearily. “I sincerely have no idea. We just never... hit it off, I suppose.”

“Well, too freaking bad,” Gabriel says shrewdly. “Dean Winchester is famous, and he’s the best money we pull in after Jo Harvelle. So, what I’ve done is give you his contract for now.  Once we’ve got things more stabilized with Dad leaving, we’ll figure something else out. In the meantime, make nice, or I’m taking away your yearly bonus.”

“I don’t get a yearly bonus,” Castiel reminds him wryly.

“Maybe if you did, you’d be happier.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and turns, freezing when he sees two men approaching from the far side of the stable right towards him. “Gabriel, I’ll... I’ll talk to you later, goodbye.” He jabs the end call button and just... waits for the inevitable. There’s no way the Winchesters didn’t see him, considering he’s the only one around for the time being and Sam points right at him.

They beeline for him and Sam holds his hand out right away. “Hey, Castiel!” he says cheerfully. “Good to see you.”

With a small smile, Castiel shakes Sam’s hand firmly. As many issues as he’s had with Dean over the years, Sam Winchester is always a pleasure to be around. “And you, Sam.” He hesitates only a fraction of a second before offering his hand to Dean as well. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says neutrally, shaking his hand and quickly letting go.

Castiel hates how good the brief sensation of a rough working hand feels in his. He’d told Gabriel a hundred times that he didn’t know why he and Dean had such an abrasive relationship. But he does. He really, really does. It’s all his fault. It’s because he wants to fuck Dean into next Tuesday. The man is a marvel. The kind of rough and tumble cowboy that movies are made of. The Wild West personified wrapped up in denim, an obnoxiously large belt buckle, and lovely green eyes shaded by a tan cowboy hat. Castiel can’t help but stare.

Naturally, he only realizes he’s doing it when a muscle in Dean’s jaw twitches and he glances away towards his brother.

Castiel blinks and clears his throat. “How’s Baby?” he asks feebly.

Dean gives him an intense stare, magnified by the sun, and stuffs his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “She’s good,” he drawls. “Up to the task.”

“That’s good,” he says.

Sam taps Dean on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go check on her, okay? Bobby’s got her settled. See you later, Cas.”

Dean nods wordlessly, shaking his head a little at the stern look his brother gives him before wandering off. Then his full attention is back on Castiel again. “Surprised to see you here,” he says, sounding not at all surprised. “Thought the circuit would be Gabriel’s thing.”

“Yes, usually,” Castiel says, trying to keep his staring to a polite minimum. “Most of the ranch staff is traveling for the moment, so he stayed behind to hold down the fort.”

“Huh.” Dean rocks back on his heels a little. “So you were sent here to babysit your investments?”

Sensing a trap, but not knowing what it is, Castiel answers honestly. “More or less. I go where the family business takes me.”

Dean’s expression darkens. “I’m still riding good despite what happened a couple years ago.”

“I know,” Castiel hastens to assure him, confused. “I have confidence in your skills. I was more worried about Baby, truth be told.”

“What for?” Dean asks with a slight edge.

Castiel shrugs. “Oh. Well, she was hurt, too, wasn’t she? Older horses have more difficulty healing than younger ones.” He doesn’t realize he’s made a mistake until Dean’s taken a large step forward into his personal space.

“That so?” His lovely Texas twang has gone from sexy to dangerous in the blink of an eye. “You looking to sell me a new horse, Cas?”

“I...” Castiel takes a single step away, his back hitting the fence. He also hates his constant nerves around Dean Winchester, but it can’t be helped. There are few people in the world that Castiel can’t figure out at some point. But Dean could be that one. “You... um... if you ever have the need, yes, I’d be happy for you to consider one of mine first.”

Dean leans so close that the brim of his hat shades part of Castiel’s face, and he has to cross his eyes a bit to be able to see him. “You know something? If you and I weren’t making each other a mountain of money, I’d put your dick in the dirt.”

Castiel can’t say anything. Confusion is his first reaction. Why would Dean want to knock him down for selling him a horse? He and Bobby and Sam have always been perfectly pleased with the stock that the Milton family breeds. But the more Dean stares, the more that the confusion melts away. His tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. He’s... no, he’s not terrified. He’s thrilled. He should be terrified, but he’s just too turned on. “Why?” he manages to croak.

Dean’s eyes flick down briefly and Castiel can’t bear to think of the reason why. “No respect,” Dean mutters, breath hot on Castiel’s mouth. “Animals aren’t commodities. They deserve far more respect than you give them, considering they’re the reason you have a fucking roof over your head.”

Castiel’s throat clicks as he swallows. His eyes widen. The sudden plague of fierce desire is instantly swept away into the depths of understanding. And that understanding brews quite the potent draught of shame. He opens his mouth to apologize, to say anything, but Dean’s done with him.

The cowboy jerks back, levels Castiel with one final hard look, then spins on his booted heel, and then he’s stomping away.

As shame-faced as he is, Castiel can’t help enjoying watching Dean leave.

 

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

 

“You look like you could use a drink,” Sam says shrewdly when Dean makes it to their motel room after an hour of comforting Baby and assuring the harassed horse that her indignity of trailer travel is over for the time being.

“I could use ten,” Dean snips, tossing his hat onto the small breakfast table. For once the sponsors had sprung for nicer rooms with full kitchens and bathrooms that didn’t look like halfway cleaned swamps.

“Cas got to you again, didn’t he?” Sam says.

Dean tips an eyebrow up at his brother as he crosses to his bed and drops down to yank his boots off. There’s got to be a trap here. Sam isn’t usually so nice as to leave an opening for Dean to bitch about his least favorite person in the world. He normally waxes poetic about everyone getting along and singing campfire songs. It’s suspicious, but Dean’s still wound up, so he takes the hook and sinks with the line. “Of-fucking-course he did,” he says. He flops onto his back to glare at the ceiling so that he doesn’t have to see Sam’s sour lemons look.

“What happened this time?” He sounds tired.

“He wanted to sell me a horse to replace Baby.”

He can practically hear Sam’s wince. “Ouch.”

“Damn right, ouch,” Dean returns. “How did someone as disrespectful as that dick ever end up as a breeder?”

Sam chuckles wryly. “Accident of birth. Family business. But to be fair, he’s the numbers guy.”

“How is that an excuse?” Dean demands. “You have to respect where your money’s coming from. And the Milton’s especially. They work with living things, but Cas treats them like they can be thrown away like a used up six pack!”

Sam is quiet for a time, and though Dean isn’t looking directly at him, he knows his brother isn’t distracted. There’s no clicking of keys on his keyboard, and his phone is away on the nightstand. “Dean,” he says thoughtfully. “Look, I know you’re probably gonna get mad at me for asking this, but are you sure you’re hearing what he’s actually saying and not what you think he’s saying?”

Dean turns his head, glaring. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Sam holds both hands up in a placating gesture. “I mean... the two of you have been at each other’s throats since day one. Are you sure that you’re not projecting all that hostility and letting it build?”

Dean pushes up onto his elbows. “Why would I want to do that? Jesus, Sammy, you’re acting like I _want_ to hate the guy!”

“Don’t you?” He asks pointedly.

Dean scoffs. “No, I... what? No. Why would I? Fuck.” He takes a deep breath. Huffs it out hard. Much more calmly he says, “I don’t wanna hate anyone, Sam. It’s not my fault Milton’s an asshole.”

“Of course not,” Sam agrees. “It’s just... you’re one of the only people I know who feels that way about him.” When Dean scoffs, Sam rushes to say his piece before Dean decides he’s done listening. “I’ve talked with Cas a lot, and I like him. He’s never said or done anything bad. Hell, Bobby likes him, and Bobby doesn’t like _anyone_.”

“Bobby likes him because ninety percent of his blue ribbons are from the Milton breeding stock.”

“That’s not it, and you know it,” Sam argues. “You’re being dim on purpose. All I’m saying is that maybe he’s not as bad as you think he is. You tend you get closed off when you put your mind to it.”

“You’re saying I hold a grudge?” Dean mumbles, though he’s not going to outright deny the truth of Sam’s words. They are true. He does hold grudges. Life’s a lot simpler that way. And he’s not in the business of making friends. He’s in the business of winning trophies. He pays Sam for a reason, and that’s to grease the wheels and be the nice one.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Sam returns, but he’s smiling. “You know I’m right.”

“You know what?” Dean demands moodily. “I’m allowed to feel the way I feel.”

Sam rests his elbows on the table, leaning more towards his brother. “Yeah, that’s true. No one can tell you how to feel. I’m just saying... I dunno.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m saying to maybe try to keep an open mind with him. You might be surprised.”

Dean sighs, grabs for the TV remote, and starts flipping channels. “Damn right, I would be,” he mumbles.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

No matter how long that Castiel wanders the grounds, wanders the stables, he can’t seem to calm down completely. Can’t get rid of the buzzing, tiny wings under his skin. He’s irritated and twitchy, and there’s no outlet for it. Well. There _is_ an outlet, but it’s one he can’t have. Shouldn’t even want to have. Dean hates him and no matter what he does, Castiel can’t convince him that he’s more than the huge foot he keeps shoving into his mouth whenever he tries to talk to him.

They have several days, though. Perhaps... Castiel shakes his head. It’s probably impossible. They’ve known each other for years and nothing has changed Dean’s opinion ever. A professional working relationship is the best that he can hope for.

Too bad it doesn’t feel like enough no matter how much time passes.

He pauses outside of Baby’s stable, pleased to see her poking her muzzle over the top of the gate. He smiles warmly and approaches her. “Hello, Baby. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you last. You’re still the same elegant lady as ever.”

The beautiful, sleek black sport horse snuffles at him and bumps his hand when he holds it out. Then she pushes forward towards his chest, sending Castiel chuckling. “Always expecting a treat, are you? Does Dean spoil you? He seems the type to be indulgent to his loved ones.” That’s pure fantasy, but Castiel’s allowed that since he can’t have anything else resembling friendship with the man.

Her ears twitch at the mention of her master, but she continues to butt into his jacket all the same.

Gamely, he pulls out an apple from his pocket and offers it out. She takes it right away, barely even chewing it, just as she’s always been. Only once having given her treat, does she deign to let Castiel stroke her forehead and neck. She nips at his sleeves as he coos nonsense at her.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a voice says from behind him.

Castiel doesn’t take his attention off of the horse. “Of course. Baby appreciates the family reunion just as much as I do. Don’t you, girl?” She bumps his hands again, demanding a better shoulder rub, to which he complies happily.

Anna comes up beside her brother, and Baby is almost as happy to see her. “I guess it was too much to hope you’d have come to play with Dean.”

“I saw him,” Castiel sighs.

“Still the same prickly pear?”

“Yes.”

She leans her back against the stable wall right in Castiel’s peripheral vision. “Whose fault was it this time?”

“It’s always mine,” he admits. “I’ve never been able to say the right thing to him. I don’t understand him.”

“Sure you do,” Anna disagrees. “Dean Winchester’s a simple man. Horses, bulls, leather, and that muscle car of his.”

Castiel smiles wryly. “And here I am: books, numbers, polished wood desks, and pressed suits.”

“Opposites attract.”

Castiel scoffs. “Even if he was interested in men, we can’t even be friends. I’ll never be able to ask, so I’ll never know. Such is life.”

“Jumping hurdles, is it?” Anna asks with a hint of mischief. “Well, I can help you over one of them. I saw Dean with Jesse and Cesar at the Crystal Chandelier a couple years back.”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “The gay country western bar?”

With a shit-eating grin, Anna nods. “Not only was here there, he left with a man.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Castiel says uncertainty. But, wow, it would be great if it actually did.

“Of course not. What meant something was when he pushed the guy up against the passenger side of his car and shoved his tongue down his throat. And may I just say, he looked _really_ good at what he was doing.”

Castiel doesn’t want to hear about that. Actually, yes he does. But he also doesn’t. It makes two types of heat coil within him. High temperature jealousy burning in his chest, and sweet-hot arousal simmering in his belly. Dean’s... Dean is... like _him_. But he doesn’t _like_ him. That’s a much higher hurdle. That’s plenty of ice on the fire. With a small, sad smile, he gives Baby one last pet, and then steps away. “It doesn’t matter, Anna. There’s too much animosity. And I know how much to blame I am. I’ll never keep my feet around him. He doesn’t’ care, anyway. He’s perfectly pleased with business arrangements, anyway.”

Anna pushes off from the wall, a hard look on her face. “Fine. That defeatist attitude is why you’re unhappy. And for the record? You’re the only one who is keen on seeing you that way.”

Castiel watches his sister walk back towards the parking lot, a little miffed that he didn’t have a chance to respond, though he wouldn’t know what to say if he’d been given the opportunity. What’s there to say? Everyone seems to think that both he and Dean have the desire to be more than they already are with each other. That’ll never happen. Anna’s right, though. And so is he. It makes him so very tired. But he’s used to that, too.

 

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Dean hates waking up early, but there is something great about sitting on the patio of a nice hotel room, sipping coffee, and watching the sun rise over the mountains. Idly he thinks about retiring to Montana. It would be a nice change of scenery. He lets himself imagine having a ranch. Maybe training horses and riders. Some chickens would be nice.

Sam finds him smiling to himself. “Hey, ‘morning.”

Dean nods to him. “Hey.”

“Did you get enough sleep?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Steer wrestling ain’t a problem. Not worried about the bull riding tomorrow, either.”

With a snort, Sam says, “unless you pull a veteran. It’s called the most dangerous eight seconds in sports for a reason.” But he’s smiling.

“You really want to jinx it?”

Sam sits down in the other porch chair, kicking his feet up on the railing. “You’re the favorite this year. Again.”

“If it’s my last year, I gotta leave with a bang. Won’t let myself fall off my damn fine pedestal if I can help it.”

“True enough. What time are you heading out?”

“After breakfast. Need to take care of Baby. Walk the grounds, I guess. Pick up my numbers.”

“Isn’t that what I’m here for, as you manager and handler?” Sam laughs.

“Eh.” Dean shrugs. “I’d much prefer it if you greased all the wheels and shook all the hands for me. Hate that shit. I’ll do the fun part.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam waves his hand dismissively. “But you’re still gonna do those photo shoots later, and that fashion shoot Balthazar contracted you for.”

“You forced me to sign that fucking contract,” Dean groans. “What does that British bastard know about Western fashion, anyway?”

“Apparently enough to make millions selling his line. He’s already planned an outfit for you to wear for your competition.”

“What the hell?” Dean demands.

“Hat included,” Sam adds, sounding a little bit sorry. “It’s today before your first round. He wants you uninjured if possible.”

“Jesus, fine,” Dean mutters. “Earlier the better, okay? Am I the only one?”

“Not even,” Sam assures him. “You won’t be the laughingstock by a mile, I promise. He’s booked up all day with pretty much everyone.”

Dean grunts, drains his coffee, and decides to get ready for his day, at least to get the shit he doesn’t want to do out of the way.

Of course, there’s not a moment’s peace once he’s out of the motel and down to the parade grounds. Spectators won’t be showing up for hours yet, but the competitors and their teams are already out and about. The stables aren’t too packed, but Dean is only halfway down the line when he spots Balthazar and his twitchy photographer, Kevin. Dean sighs internally, but it’s too late to run away when Balthazar sees him and jogs over. He holds his hand out. “The elusive Dean Winchester,” he greets, shaking hands. “I’ve been trying to get you to agree to a spread for years.”

“Sam didn’t consult me,” Dean answers. He doesn’t feel the need to be polite. No one besides his brother expects it of him, anyway. “He was hoping I’d do what I’d always do and not read whatever I was signing.”

“You would have said no, so I’m glad he didn’t give you the chance!” Balthazar chirps, undeterred. He gives the cowboy a once over. “Those threads look good on you. Knew I picked the right man for the job! Now, let’s get you saddled up, or whatever they call it, and get on with it.”

“What?” Dean says flatly.

Rolling his eyes, Balthazar says, “I’m not going to pose you on some fence post with a piece of straw hanging out of your mouth or something so trite. I want you up on your magnificent horse and we’ll go from there.”

Dean begins to thaw slightly at that. As much as he doesn’t want to get his poor horse involved in this embarrassment, it’s actually pretty nice to have a companion to suffer with him. If he doesn’t have to lay around like a douche, it’ll be far less humiliating. “Fine. But just so you know, messing with the color of the hats isn’t going to help you sell more. There’s a reason people stick with the classics.” He flicks the brim of the dark turquoise hat he’s wearing. It fits well, but he’s got a grand total of one shirt he can wear it with other than the royal purple one Balthazar has put him in. He continues on his way to the stables, the designer and his photographer following beside him.

Balthazar scoffs. “Darling, more color options means more sales for the sake of fashion. People want options. And they’ll buy more options. Why sell one hat that works with every outfit when I can sell five of each?”

“Always about the money,” Dean mutters. He walks down the line of stalls to where Baby is waiting. Bobby is already there getting her set up.

“Nice shirt,” he drawls with a smirk when he catches sight of Dean.

“Can it,” Dean answers. “How’s my horse? Ready for a ride?”

He turns back to adjusting the saddle straps. “And picture perfect to boot. Balthazar here was breathing down my neck about it already.”

His surly attitude does a lot to lighten Dean’s mood. “We just need to grin and bear it, and get these idiots out of our hair.” He opens the stall door, grabs Baby’s reins, and guides her towards the training paddock outside.

Balthazar sighs dramatically. “I put up with so much abuse from pretty people.”

“Maybe if you made better clothes,” Dean snarks, swinging up into the saddle with practiced ease. The paddock’s gate is open and no one else is out yet, so he takes his time and freedom to run Baby through her paces. Occasionally Balthazar shouts directions, Kevin bouncing around with his camera, but overall it’s fairly painless. After an hour, Dean’s steering Baby back to the gate and Balthazar is beaming.

“You’ve made the centerfold, gorgeous,” he winks.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Just what I’ve always wanted.”

“I surely know! Make it pretty with the bull riding, too. Kevin and I will be front and center for some action shots.”

Dean glances at the photographer, who’s looking a little terrified at the whole idea. He grins. “Ever even been to a rodeo before, kid?”

“No,” Kevin answers. “I actually _like_ animals. I’m a vegetarian.”

Dean laughs loudly. “Figured you’d be one of those. Not that it’s my job to convince you, but most of the animals in the circuit have better lives than people. Add that research to your homework list.” With that, he directs Baby back towards the stables. It’s about time to get to registration. Of course, his irritation is still holding because he spots Castiel Milton chatting with Bobby at Baby’s stall. He slides out of the saddle, and the two men turn when they hear his approach.

“Oh,” Castiel says. His eyes roam up and down Dean’s body, causing the cowboy a moment of irrational self-consciousness. “Dean, you look... um.”

As much as he tries to remember Sam’s words to chill the fuck out, he can feel himself bristling. “I was signed up for a photo shoot with Balthazar thanks to my dumbass brother. Don’t need to tell me I look stupid.”

Castiel frowns. “I was going to say you looked quite attractive.”

Having already prepared another retort before Castiel’s answer, the unexpected admittance pulls him up short hard enough that he almost chokes on his tongue. “Huh,” is all that makes it out. He blinks. He thinks he has to be imagining it, but Castiel looks slightly more... _red_ than normal. It’s not a bad look on him. In fact, it’s appealing enough that Dean finds his lips tilting up into his most naturally flirty grin. Just to see what’ll happen, mind. “Mighty kind of you to say so, Cas,” he drawls.

Annnnnnnd, jackpot. Castiel’s face goes even redder and his summer-blue eyes flick away. Dean could get used to this. Somewhere behind him, he hears Balthazar mumble, “oh, please.” Which amuses him until, in a louder voice, the designer says, “actually, the both of you make a striking pair. I have a few ideas for a shoot that would--”

“No!” Dean and Castiel object in unison.

Now Balthazar has on a Cheshire Cat grin. “Only a suggestion.”

Bobby clears his throat loudly. “If you idjits are done? I got a horse to tend to, and a rider who needs to get himself registered.”

Silently, Dean thanks Bobby. That whole conversation was getting away from him. “Yeah. Guess I’ll be on my way. Later, Cas.”

Castiel startles slightly. “Ah. Yes. Okay. Good luck, Dean.”

Still loving how weirdly uncomfortable he’s made his sponsor, Dean saunters off towards the arena feeling pretty good about himself.

A knuckle on his shoulder brings him back to reality halfway to his destination, though. He turns to see his stiffest coed competition falling into step beside him. “Jo Harvelle,” he says cheerfully. “Still doing this gig, making me look bad, and pretending you’re too good for me?”

“There’s no pretending,” she counters with a bright smile. “I’ve been too good for you since always. How’s the knee?”

Unconsciously, Dean kicks his knee out a bit to test the flexibility. “Yeah, I’m good. Cleared to compete.”

“Good for you, old man!”

He laughs. “Fuck off.”

“Nah, you love me! So, what’s this year? The usual?”

Dean nods and holds the glass doors to the auditorium open for Jo. They glance around at the hanging signs and banners, looking for their groups and events. Dean points. “I’m that way." 

She gives him a lazy salute. “Good luck!” she chirps, and heads off in the opposite direction.

He takes his place in line, and when it’s his turn, pulls out his ID and registration papers. “Dean Winchester,” he says with a grin and a wink.

The young woman behind the desk smiles back and checks him in. “Says here your bulldogging partner is Benny Lafitte, correct?”

“Yup.”

“Good! He’s already checked in and confirmed.” She digs through a file box and extracts a manila envelope with his name printed on the front. “These are your numbers.” She nods to the right. “Ticket booth for bull riding is over there. Pull a number from the box, and the attendant will tell you who you’re riding.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean says, tipping his hat and shuffling to the next table over. He opens the envelope to fish out his number for the event and reads it off to that attendant. Then he shoves his hand into a covered cardboard box and grabs the first piece of paper his fingers touch. He offers it over ceremoniously to the lady and she checks it against her list on the laptop.

He knows he’s in for it when her eyes widen for a second and she breathes, “oh.”

“Shit,” Dean answers.

She gives him an encouraging, if pitying, smile. “First of all, I’d like to say I’m one of your biggest fans. Been watching you in the circuit since you went pro.”

Dean groans. “What did I do to myself?”

“Larry.”

That’s all he needs to hear. Larry is a hell of a bull to ride. Larry is legendary. Larry’s had a grand total of five riders last more than five seconds. Only one made it to seven. No one’s done eight. Larry is the meanest son of a gun Dean’s ever watched, and thanked his lucky stars every year to only be in the stands for his runs. He’d hoped to hold that lucky streak until Larry was retired. Apparently, that was wishful thinking. Karma’s kind of a bitch that way.

“There’s a prayer meeting tonight after the opening ceremonies down in the west tents,” she says pityingly.

Dean chuckles weakly. “Light a candle for me, sugar? I’d be mighty grateful.”

She hands him back his confirmation papers. “Godspeed, Mr. Winchester.”

He tries to appear unconcerned, but the look from the attendant shows that he probably hasn’t pulled it off very convincingly.

Oh, well. He’d said he wanted to go out with a bang. This sure does qualify.

Dean doesn’t feel like going back to the room because he’s certain that Sam will want to have a long talk about their feelings on Dean’s luck of the draw. Or lack thereof. And he’s just not ready for that. Mostly because he kind of feels like he’s letting his brother down. He’s not an idiot. He knows why Sam gave up the chance at a much more lucrative law career to hang around Nowhere, Texas and handle all of his older brother’s legal needs. He’s worried about exactly this scenario. About Dean ending up gored and disabled like the legendary rider, John Winchester. Larry hadn’t got him, but that old cuss had the same mean spirit as the bull his son’s set to take on.

Dean hadn’t ever worried about any of that until ten minutes ago. He knows he’s not invincible. And he can still see his dad getting thrown, trampled, and horned as clear as it was yesterday. He can’t help thinking that it’s some sort of cosmic joke that the only time he’s had such a cold thrill of fear for his own mortality is the same year he’s considering preserving it.

And he’s so preoccupied that he doesn’t notice someone else in Baby’s stall until he’s practically tripping over the guy. He rears back, tossing his hands out and being met with a staying grip.

“Dean?” the startled voice gasps.

Dean rights himself. “Cas?” He can’t seem to comprehend Castiel Milton in Baby’s room. “What the hell?” It takes him a minute to focus, but it dawns on him slowly. Castiel’s sleeves are rolled up, he’s a little dusty, and he’s holding a brush.

“I apologize,” Castiel says, hanging his head. “Bobby was busy so I offered to help with Baby.”

That makes no sense, either, but Dean’s getting used to the confusion now. “Why?”

“Why not?” Castiel asks simply.

That’s a good fucking question. But the only answer is, “dunno.” There’s really no reason to be surprised. As much as he doesn’t seem to respect animals, Castiel _does_ like them, which is good because he’s been raised around them his whole life. Whatever his feelings, he knows how to take care of his investments, be they human or beast.

Castiel stops what he’s doing and takes a single step towards him, concern evident on his face. “Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

That’s usually Sam’s line, but today is weird. Dean’s just learned that he’s mortal. On top of that, he discovered that he really enjoys seeing that Castiel is in some way attracted to him, at least physically. So, he decides to make it weirder. He decides to confide in someone that he thought he was in mutual hate with only a few hours ago. “I got Larry,” he admits heavily.

Castiel’s shock is a full bodied experience. He rocks back on his heels, makes a strangled noise, and drops the brush to the ground. Baby shuffles with a soft knicker, nosing into Castiel’s shoulder. He reaches up unconsciously to stroke her neck comfortingly. “That’s...” His expression goes from surprised to pained. “I...” he swallows. “I’m sure you’ll...” None of the sentences seem to stick.

Castiel stares hard at Dean, and Dean can’t, for the life of him, look away. He can feel himself straining towards Castiel for something. An assurance. The magical right words. Something that will make him feel better. And he can tell from Castiel’s desperate expression, that he wants to be able to do that.

“You’re the best bull rider of your generation,” Castiel offers anemically, looking for some reason like he’d just accidentally killed a puppy or something.

Hysterical laughter bubbles up in Dean’s throat so quickly that there’s no hope of stopping it. He starts to laugh. And once he does, it becomes awfully difficult to stop. There’s no reason to laugh. It’s not funny. Larry’s a bull that no one in the world wants to ride, and that’s saying a lot from a whole group of daredevils. Because there’s having something to prove, and then there’s riding Larry.

Baby stamps her foot and tosses her head, displeased with the noise in her calm quarters, but Castiel is there soothing her while Dean has an emotional breakdown over by the feed bucket. Horse and human probably think he’s gone insane. If he is, it feels exactly like he expected it to.

Dean wipes the tears of laughter away, and manages to chortle, “I was gonna retire this year.”

Cautiously, Castiel asks, “were you? I had no idea. I mean, there were rumors, but… I can’t really imagine you doing anything else.”

“I put it out into the universe and this is payback. Larry’s gonna kick my ass.”

“No, he’s not.” A steely grip on his forearm brings Dean up short. As does Castiel’s intensity. “Dean, you really are one of the best at this. You’ve been on the circuit since you were in middle school. If anyone can handle Larry, you can.”

“Five seconds is his stat,” Dean reminds him. “One person lasted seven seconds, and only just barely.”

“You can make it seven,” Castiel counters. “You can make it eight. I’m positive.”

Something about that strange, likely misplaced faith, stirs Dean. He finds himself studying the man in front of him. Trying to see him again for the first time now that he’s gone crazy and having a whole day of firsts. This is the longest they’ve gone in their entire acquaintance without shouting at each other. That’s as crazy as the rest of it. He’s too muddled to be able to think of any response, any confirmation, so he just nods. Involuntarily, he steps in front of Castiel. Even more strangely, Castiel also moves forward. They could touch more. If they wanted.

Though the oddly charged moment is broken by Baby, who has suddenly taken a turn for traitor. She bites the brim of Dean’s hat, strips it from his head, and tosses it to the ground. Then she shoves her neck between them, forcing Dean bodily out of the stall lest he get stepped on.

“What the fuck?” Dean demands as he hops backwards. Incredulously, he watches his horse whine and snuffle against Castiel’s chest until he’s nearly knocked off his feet, laughing softly and petting her lovingly. “What the hell is this betrayal?”

“I think she’s in love with me,” Castiel says, kissing the horse’s muzzle and cooing at her to calm down.

Dean brushes himself off indignantly, irritation breaking through the haze he’d been in. “She’s a sellout! What the fuck! She’s supposed to be on my side!”

“I believe she still is,” Castiel smiles. “It was bribery. I gave her an apple yesterday.”

That... actually makes it better. Dean’s been bought for less a time or two. Strangely, he thinks that he’d do with either one not treating him like the third wheel. He pushes the thought aside gruffly. “Somehow I’m not surprised.”

Castiel finishes calming the horse then slips out of the stall as well, securing the gate. His eyes soften. “Are you going to be okay with Larry?”

Dean shrugs a shoulder. “That bull’s never killed anyone, so there’s that?”

The statement makes Castiel look vaguely ill. “You’ll be fine.”

Dean smacks Castiel’s shoulder with far more bravado than he feels. “That’s the thing, man. I always am.”

Having dealt with enough of the part of himself mired in his own doubts, mortality, and inexplicable attraction to Castiel, which he’d carefully squirreled away until today, Dean starts to leave, but Castiel stops him. “You know... I’ll be there. Cheering for you.”

His heart thuds pleasantly. “Yeah. Thanks. Uh. See ya there.” Then it’s really time to escape before he realizes that he doesn’t hate Castiel as much as he keeps convincing himself he should anymore.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

There are a lot of things about the rodeo circuit that Dean is going to miss when he’s gone, not the least of which is the adrenaline rush coursing through him. His number is pinned to his chest and back, the smell of hay and earth is in his nose, the roar of the crowd is right outside the gate in the arena. Time speeds up to such an extent that Dean doesn’t even know how many people have gone until his name is being called over the loudspeaker.

_You know this. You can do this._ He takes a deep breath and holds it for five seconds before exhaling. The crowd screams for him, pounding the bleachers with their feet. It’s such a rush. He craves it even when he’s literally in it. He barely notices the hand on his shoulder.

“You got this, Dean,” Sam says directly into his ear so that he can be heard over the roar.

Dean nods, knowing his own voice would be nothing if he tried to speak. He secures his hat, taps the heels of his boots against the wall to make sure they’re secure, and climbs the rail to the bucking chute. Benny’s on the other side, grinning wickedly at him. “Good luck, brother,” he says.

Trying not to think too hard about it, Dean adjusts his gloves and drops down astride Larry. The bull’s already primed and ready, taut, powerful muscles quivering under him. Dean loops the rope around his hand and mutters, “just don’t kill me, you angry bastard.”

He raises his left arm free. Gives Benny a two-finger salute and a nod. Now or never. Goddamn but he wants to live.

Benny winks and opens the chute gate.

Larry careens from the chute, and the first buzzer sounds.

For a split second, it’s all Dean can do to hold on and not bite his own damn tongue off. Larry’s handled a lot of riders, and he knows how to get them off with alacrity. In fact, he’s so good at mixing it up, that Dean’s given up any hope of style points as the animal sunfishes the likes of which he’s never seen. “Come on!” Dean screams as Larry leaps off the ground and twists, kicking his hind feet. Dean’s not sure whether he’s encouraging the bull, or begging for deliverance.

But he rolls with the punches, so to speak. Larry twists and jerks, rolls and bucks, and by some miracle, Dean holds the hell on. He keeps his core tight, legs firm, and somehow finds himself not being jarred hard enough that his teeth clack together after a moment or two.

Eight seconds isn’t an eternity. It looks like it on movies, TV shows, and slow-mo footage from rodeos, but when the second buzzer sounds, Dean feels like he hasn’t even blinked once. The crowd is on its feet, deafening, and it hits Dean that he fucking did it. He lasted eight Godforsaken seconds on Larry.

Then he’s actually hit. Larry comes down on his forelegs like a ton of bricks, and Dean finally loses his grip on the rope. He’s ass over teakettle, and braces himself for impact. His back cracks as it takes the brunt of the fall, and his face floods with dust. He rolls to the side, coughing and furiously trying to suck in a breath, praying that the bullfighters have Larry before he can be trampled. He doesn’t even have time to check as he scrambles to his feet and sprints to the edge of the ring, vaulting over the railing. Sam somehow is right there, grabbing him in a crushing hug and shouting praise loudly enough that Dean’s ears ring more than from the fall from Larry’s back and the endlessly screaming crowds.

He wiggles out of the bear hug, spine popping back into alignment, thankfully. He’s laughing and in pain, and when he turns back to the ring, he catches a glimpse of Larry trampling the blue cowboy hat, and that makes him laugh harder. “Balthazar’s gonna be pissed!”

A hand on his shoulder swings him back around and he’s about to say something else to Sam, but it’s Castiel this time. He looks incredibly pissed. He grabs Dean’s hand and shakes it almost painfully. “Are you hurt?”

Confused by his expression, but still grinning, Dean says, “just winded. I’m fine.”

Castiel doesn’t seem to know how to stop shaking his hand. “Good,” he says. “That’s good.” He shakes Dean’s entire arm. Shakes his own head several times. Then he wanders away at a loss, stiff and shell-shocked. Dean only grins more. That wasn’t his angry face. That was his worried face. Now, _that’s_ a whole bucket of interesting in a dry desert of normal.

Sam takes Castiel’s place, grabbing Dean’s arm and shaking him. He points up to the jumbotron. Dean’s name is flashing on the screen in bright yellow caps font. Next to it, a 92. Dean’s whole body startles. He jumps up, whooping. That score lands him soundly in first place with only four riders left. He fucking did it! He rode Larry! Hard!

He wants to stay to watch the rest of his competitors, but Sam drags him out of the arena to the medical station, where Dean promptly scoffs. “Dude, I’m fine. Just lemme enjoy the moment.”

“You hit the ground hard, you were down for longer than normal, and you’re running on adrenaline,” Sam objects. “At least get an eval. You’re old, so you have to take care of yourself.”

Dean punches his brother in the arm, but goes into the trailer anyway. The doctor is friendly and the nurse is hot, so he doesn’t complain all that much. Fifteen minutes later, he’s got a clean bill of health. Just some bruises and a lot of congratulations on riding Larry and surviving. He exits the trailer with a handful of chemical ice packs and a growling stomach. “I’m starving!” he informs Sam loudly. “I want food!”

“Trying to prove you’re not old acting like a toddler? Fine. Let’s go, but I don’t want any of the carnival food here. I need something real.”

“Corn dogs aren’t so bad,” Dean laughs. “Totally real by-products!”

“They’re terrible after you’ve had a thousand of them. I gain so much weight during the rodeo season.”

“Wuss. All right, let’s go to that BBQ joint near here. Nachos sound good.”

Sam agrees since they have weird shit like salads and baked potatoes, too. Sam needs actual vegetables every few days or he acts like the world’s ending. Frankly, Dean can’t understand the appeal.

They’re seated in a booth minutes after walking in, menus in hand. “So,” Sam starts with false lightness. “I met with Bobby this morning and told him more about your retirement plans.”

Dean winces and orders a beer. “It’s not really a _plan_ yet. Just a... like... an idea.”

“You don’t _have_ a plan, but it _is_ your plan. I know you. You’re talking about it, so it’s gonna be a thing. It’s fine, but we need to start working on a game plan, y’know? Even if you don’t wanna stay in the business, we need to make sure you’re all set up for whatever comes next.”

“What if I don’t know what comes next?” Dean asks in a rare moment of uncertainty.

Sam shrugs. “I mean, you don’t have to have some five year plan mapped out, but the sponsors are gonna want some answers.”

Dean winks at the server who brings their beers, and salutes his brother with the bottle. “Tell ‘em whatever the hell they wanna hear on my behalf.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah. I always do.”

The rest of their meal passes amicably with talk about all the wheels Sam needs to grease, and the rest of the competition for Dean. He’d already started cutting back on his events before he was injured because it had started to become too tiring keeping up. Quality over quantity started to make a lot more sense. By now he’s one of the older competitors, so his retirement won’t exactly be a surprise; especially if he wants to go out at the top of his game. But he could still milk a few more years out of the circuit, depending on how many aches and pains he’s willing to put up with afterwards. His back twinges when he digs in his back pocket for his wallet, reminding him that no matter how much he loves rodeos, he’s starting to like being uninjured even more. And his body sure ain’t “walking it off” as easily as it used to. He’d rather use his remaining years being able to move around without downing twice the recommended dose of Advil every damn morning during his golden years.

By the time they’re fed and watered, Dean’s phone has nearly blown up with calls, texts, and tweets from fellow competitors and fans ecstatic about his win. But as much as he’s always loved scrolling through proof of his victory, a pair of texts back to back sent a few minutes ago catches his eye. They’re from Castiel. One is a semi-blurry one of Dean riding Larry. The second is of Baby in her stall. The text reads, _This is Castiel. You rode beautifully today. I gave Baby an apple. She prefers Honeycrisp, it seems. Bobby said it was fine for me to exercise her in your stead. I’m sure you need rest. Don’t worry about a thing. I’m making sure your horse is in top form for tomorrow._

Dean absently rubs at his chest. Huh. He... he doesn’t know what to do with this.

And he must look like something’s up his butt because Sam asks, “what’s up? Bad news?”

Dean shakes his head, mystified. “No, it’s uh... Cas sent me a nice text is all. He’s looking out for Baby, so I can just relax.” He glances up at Sam. “Not like I did anything.”

Sam rolls his eyes and hands his credit card off to the server. “No, of course not. You just spent a hell of time winning a whole event against impossible odds.”

“For eight seconds,” Dean counters.

Sam shrugs. “It’s high impact.”

Dean laughs. “You’re a great manager, you know that? Your PR skills are second to none.”

“Glad you think so,” Sam returns. “It means you have to listen to me when I tell you to go to bed early. Benny will kick your ass if you’re yawning tomorrow.”

“I’m too old for all night drinking and strip clubs,” Dean says.

“Liar.”

“Totally lying.”

“You can do that tomorrow night, I promise.”

“Good enough for me.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

The sun rises bright and early in Montana. Or at least it seems so to Dean with how it’s blinding his eyes before his alarm goes off. Life is cruel that way. He keeps his eyes closed but he can hear Sam puttering around in the small kitchen area making coffee and cooking something on the electric stove.

“Better be bacon,” Dean mutters, slamming his pillow over his head.

“There’s always bacon on competition days,” Sam chirps. “I went out and got some after my run.”

Dean moves the pillow off of his face long enough to gripe, “how are we even related?”

“Maybe you were adopted,” Sam returns.

“That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“I agree. Are you getting up anytime soon? You’re gonna need to take Baby for a practice run.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean groans, slowly sitting up. His whole spine pops in protest thanks to the shitty mattress.

“Was that your back?” Sam asks, horrified. “I could hear that all the way over here!”

“Getting old ain’t fun,” Dean laments. “Stupid crappy mattress isn’t helping, either.”

“You’re really embracing that retirement mentality,” Sam chuckles. “Come on. I made that sludge coffee you like. That’ll perk you up in no time.”

Dean pours himself a large serving into one of the motel’s generously sized mugs and sips it daintily while watching his brother closely so that he doesn’t overcook the bacon.

“Don’t hover,” Sam warns.

“Don’t screw it up,” Dean counters.

“I’m a Winchester. I don’t screw up bacon. Now sit down and shut up.”

It’s a good way to start the morning, really. Dean dutifully sits and takes the omelet, hash browns, and bacon that Sam offers him. It’s the only time he’ll eat vegetables when pressed, honestly. But this is how they so things on the competition days. It’s bittersweet. Thinking that this may be his last competitive event. The rodeo’s all he’s known since he was a teenager. Hell, before that. He’d watched his dad run the circuit and then manage it since before he was born. Even when he talks about giving it up, it’s nearly impossible to imagine. Sure, there are other things he likes to do, and a future out there that he isn’t afraid of. But it’s still hard to picture not getting up in the morning and doing some sort of training that will lead him to these events. He’s not sure if he’s sad yet, or if it all just hasn’t sunk in. Either way, it’s all he can think about the entire morning.

Sam gets them to the arena three hours early, but there are still crowds of spectators wandering the grounds and booths. Once again, it’s bright and sunny and beautiful. Sam has people to schmooze, so he breaks off at the stables, promising to be back to see Dean’s event. Dean waves him off and goes to greet Baby for her warm up. She’d be happier to see him, but she’s distracted by Bobby getting her ready.

“‘Morning,” Dean greets.

“Right on time,” Bobby says, untying Baby’s reins from the stall door post and leading her out. “You’ve got the ring for an hour, but take it easy out there. Ain’t a spring chicken you’re riding anymore.”

“Calling me old, and now they’re calling my horse old,” Dean mutters good-naturedly. “Don’t let ‘em get to you, Baby. We’re at the top of our game.” He swings up into the saddle and takes the reins from Bobby.

Baby walks demurely out of the stables, but gets a bug in her as soon as she’s in the open air. At least, that’s what Dean assumes as she trots towards the ring, but stops just shy of the gate and the person sitting on the top rail.

Dean tips his hat back a little. “Cas?”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says with that peculiar smile he’d worn a time or two the day before. “Good morning, Baby.” He puts his hand out and Baby noses right into it affectionately.

Dean clears his throat, leaning over the saddle horn. “Not that I mind, but what are you doing here?”

“I can leave if it makes you feel uncomfortable,” Castiel answers. “I like watching people ride outside of the stadium. It’s so chaotic in there.”

“Yeah,” Dean says slowly. “You don’t ever come to the competitions. Surprised you saw my run yesterday.”

Castiel laughs a little, and Dean gets the distinct impression that he’s laughing at himself. “I realize I don’t come off as the type of person who is usually involved in rodeos.”

It’s getting easier to look directly at Castiel and have a conversation with him, Dean realizes suddenly. Doesn’t hurt that the man’s eyes look mighty nice in the morning sunshine, bluer because of the shirt he’s wearing. “It’s a fault of your birth,” Dean says lightly. “Kinda the same for a lot of us.”

Castiel gives Baby’s neck a final stroke, and says softly, “I don’t hate it, though. Would you mind if I watched you ride and came to your event later?”

Dean shrugs off the question to hide the flip in his chest. “Suit yourself. I never minded an audience. Obviously.” He nudges Baby’s sides and directs her into the ring. Castiel closes the large gate for him, though it isn’t strictly necessary. Baby was never known for getting off task.

And after a couple warm up laps around the ring, Dean idly starts to wonder if Baby is showing off a little for Castiel, or if it’s his imagination. But after a pass close to where Castiel is, arms draped over the railing, soft smile on his face, Dean kinda thinks he and the horse are ruffling their proverbial feathers a bit. Castiel’s smile shouldn’t matter, but it kinda does. Dean keeps remembering yesterday. The fierce handshake and the fire in his eyes. Life is a hell of a thing sometimes. At least it’s interesting.

The hour passes by pretty quickly. Dean lets Baby have her head for most of it, though he practices a few sprints for the steer wrestling. Naturally his best friend hasn’t lost a step. She’s strong and quick, and runs full tilt with glee. They won’t have any problems today.

Castiel opens the gate for them when they’re finished. He’s smiling broadly. “They should use you both to make tourist brochures,” he says with almost-embarrassing sincerity.

Dean’s first instinct is to laugh, but when his heart skips again, all he can do is smile back a little and stare at Castiel’s mouth. “Baby’s got a big enough ego,” he deflects.

“That’s probably true,” Castiel says fondly to the preening horse.

Dean jumps out of the saddle beside Castiel and holds the reins up in his own palm. “You wanna?”

The shock on Castiel’s face is almost comical. “It’s okay?”

Dean nods to where Baby’s face is squashed as far into Castiel’s armpit as it can go. “She look like a ditchable prom date to you?”

Castiel takes the reins, and Baby is so pleased by this turn of events that she very nearly knocks Castiel over in her rush to get into position for him to mount up. “I believe she takes after her father.”

Grinning, Dean asks, “who’s her father?”

With a surprisingly graceful jump, Castiel climbs into the saddle. “You,” he remarks before kicking Baby into a breathtaking gallop around the ring, Dean’s laughter following him on the breeze.

Dean doesn’t mind being the spectator for once, though it doesn’t escape his notice that he’s usually not so generous with Baby’s time. But Castiel... hell, he looks good on her. His posture is natural, though with the stiffness of someone who is familiar riding horses, but hasn’t been astride one in a long time. However, he loosens up after only a few minutes, and Baby obviously notices because she kicks it into high gear to give Castiel the grinning, laughing, ride of his life. Dean watches as Castiel lets Baby run herself out into a slow trot and then a walk to the gate again. His hair’s a mess, and his face is flushed. Dean likes the look on him. Like so many of the other ones he’s noticed the past few days.

“Looks like y’all had a good time.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says joyfully, dropping from the saddle and giving the reins back to him. “She’s a marvel.”

Dean starts guiding them back towards the stables. “That’s why she’s my best girl.”

“A worthy place to be.” Castiel reaches into his back pocket to get his cell phone. He reads the message on his screen and sighs. “Anna needs me.”

“It’s all right,” Dean says. “I can find my way back.”

Castiel nods. He looks pensive for a moment and then slightly embarrassed. “Of course. I’ll... I’ll see you at the competition. Um. Good luck.” He back steps away from Dean, stumbles a little, gives a tiny wave, swings around, and then jogs off in the opposite direction.

The whole episode stops Dean dead in his tracks. “What a weird, nerdy little dude,” he says with an amused shake of his head. Baby snorts her agreement.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

The rodeo circuit is in Dean’s blood. It thumps through his chest, his heartbeat the same cadence of the cheering, chanting crowds. Their noise is his oxygen. Their energy, his lifeblood. He knows that active competition can’t feasibly last for him, but the longer this weekend goes on, the more he tries to figure out a way to stay in the thick of it. Maybe he won’t stay at the homestead. Maybe he’ll hire on with Bobby full time to care for the competitive horses. Hell, maybe he’ll find an outfit like Whitewood Ranch, to raise animals for these very events like the Miltons. Maybe since he’s doing better with Castiel, they’ll give him a job. Dean smiles wryly at himself. Shakes his head. Like _that_ would ever happen.

“Don’t go daydreaming on me, brother,” Benny says, tugging on his gloves.

“I’m all here,” Dean assures him. He looks down the tunnel where he can barely see the ring beyond where the spectators are cheering for Jo Harvelle, who’s probably about to win another trophy in roping. She’s the last of the female competitors in the event; Dean and Benny headlining the men’s steer wrestling competition. “Jo makes this shit look unfairly easy.”

Benny chuckles. “Glad she ain’t our competition.”

“Man, I remember going against her in barrel racing back in grade school. I never once beat her.”

“And I’ll bet she never let you forget it.”

“Her reminding me is a Christmas dinner tradition,” he confirms darkly. “For the rest of our damn lives.”

Benny laughs and smacks him on the shoulder. “We can’t all be God’s gift. C’mon. ‘Bout that time to saddle up.”

They mount up and go where they’re directed to the steer chute, waiting for the ring to quickly be reset and the new event announced.

Dean looks across the way at Benny. “It’s been good riding with you all these years,” he says.

“Retirement don’t mean goodbye,” Benny reminds him.

“Yeah, I just... you’re good people.”

“‘Course I am,” Benny says with a friendly scoff. “I’m all southern charm. Guys like us? We’re gonna be just fine.”

Dean pats his old, tan hat firmly on his head and grins. “Yeah, you’re right.” Then he and Benny are being announced to the raucous crowd. Benny draws his horse to the right side of the metal chute, while Dean takes his place on the left.

The chute man is ready at the gate, Dean’s steer stomping its feet, ready to run. Dean takes a deep, centering breath. This is it, then. His last event. Damn. He glances up at the chute man and nods.

The gate springs open, the steer is out at full speed, kicking up dust, and Benny lets out an ecstatic shout, as he and Andrea tear after the animal to guide it. It only takes a second for the steer to hit the end of the guide rope and snap it. That being the cue, Dean jumps Baby into action, running flat out to come up alongside the steer.

Dean’s training takes over as he assesses everything from Benny’s wild grin to the side of the steer. It looks to be an easier grab than he’s used to. The longhorn is just a hair shorter than Baby, so slipping onto him shouldn’t be a huge issue. And it’s not throwing its head much or veering off, so it won’t take much to be able to get a decent grip. Baby comes up beside the steer, and without giving any of them time to get away, Dean leans in the saddle and takes hold of the horns. Everything is going picture perfect.

Until it’s not.

There’s a reason steer wrestling is the most dangerous event in the rodeo. One small misstep usually causes a quick and dirty snowball effect. In fact, Dean isn’t even aware that something’s going wrong until Benny gestures wildly at him then abruptly changes Andrea’s trajectory. Which doesn’t make sense unless...

He can’t stop his descent at this point. Baby is doing what she’s supposed to be doing, and slowing down so that he can slide off of her back and onto the steer. Seems okay, but... _oh, shit._ He feels his ankle twist. He’s caught in the stirrup. And it’s too late to do anything about it. The momentum is taking him down, but not onto the steer. Benny is trying to keep the longhorn from running off too much. Too little, too late.

And that’s the last thing Dean can properly process before he lets go of the steer, giving into gravity and the inevitability of the fall, and his upper body hits the ground hard. The burning pain alone indicates he just broke something in his arm or shoulder. But it takes all of his concentration to not black out and get himself free. He flops over, ankle screaming with protest, but as bad as it is, it’s better to be dragged on his back. At least there aren’t any rocks to roll over. Baby’s taking her sweet time to slow down, though she’s getting the idea once Benny has the longhorn away and has sprinted Andrea alongside so that he can haul back on the reins. And Baby is only slowing down because she’s limping. That adds to the horror as Dean realizes he’s gotten his horse hurt, too.

She slows to a stop, and Dean thinks, _thank God I’m not trampled dead._ What a shitty way to end a career. And then he blacks out.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

“Dean,” Sam urges for the hundredth time in hours, “you need to get some rest. Go back to the motel. Prop your foot up. Take your meds. Sleep.”

Dean grumbles, stumbling through the parking lot towards the stables in an embarrassing orthopedic boot. Adding insult to both literal and figurative injury, he’s got a bright pink cast on his arm. He’d been joking about that. No one should listen to a man hopped up on pain medication and nursing a possible concussion - dislocated and relocated, shoulder immobilized in a sling. He’s got road rash, and after ten hours in the hospital, no one’s been able to tell him what happened to Baby.

“One hour,” he grouches. “That’s all I need, Sammy. Why don’t you make yourself useful and pick up my meds at the pharmacy? I need to check on Baby.”

It’s solid enough of a compromise that Sam relents, with strict instructions that Dean be back in the room before he’s returned from the pharmacy. Dean’s willing to concede the point. He tosses Sam the Impala’s keys and keeps on the slow and steady to the stable. He stops dead the second he gets to Baby’s stall, positive that the meds and sleep deprivation are making him hallucinate. That’s the only way to explain the scene before him. Baby is on the ground, curled up, front leg bandaged. And also on the ground, head resting on her belly, is Castiel Milton. Totally asleep.

“What the hell?” Dean says wonderingly.

Castiel jumps, eyes snapping open. “Dean?” He blinks rapidly. Rubs his eyes. Realizes that Dean really is there and shoots to his feet. “Dean! Are you...? Can you...? Are you okay?” He grabs Dean’s good hand, squeezing it. He looks like he’s about to have a damn panic attack.

“I’m fine,” he answers, clearly as mystified by what’s going on as much as Castiel is. “But never mind me. How’s Baby?”

“She’s much better off than you,” Castiel says. He looks down, seeming to just notice he’s still holding Dean’s hand. His face heats, but he doesn’t bother to pull away, and his voice fades softly. “I saw the whole thing, and I... I wanted to help. But I couldn’t do anything for you. So, I made sure that Sam could get out into the ring before he did himself harm trying to climb the fence or get trampled or something. Then I personally saw to getting the vet here to take care of Baby. She was treated quickly, and I stayed with her the whole time. Bobby was busy yelling at a lot of people, so… I only wanted to help.”

Castiel’s tender tone, the way that his thumb is stroking gently over Dean’s knuckles, how concerned and relieved he looks. It’s stirring Dean’s insides something awful. He’s feeling a lot of things that might hurt more than his arm later on if he’s reading this situation wrong. Testing the waters, he quips, “always protecting your investment?”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “No. No, that’s not...” he trails off helplessly.

Dean just stares.

Castiel kneels back down, and Dean’s got enough coordination to follow him down. It’s nice to take the pressure off of his foot, anyway.

Once they’re settled, Dean prompts, “then, why?”

“Baby is why,” Castiel says with an oddly thick hitch to his voice that makes Dean unconsciously scoot towards him.

“She’s why what?” He asks, a little worried about how tender his voice sounds in response.

Castiel doesn’t take his eyes off of the horse. “She’s why I knew I couldn’t be a breeder. That I’d have to handle the back end, or do nothing at all for the family business. That I’m glad you’re her owner. That I’d stay all night with her if it helped the both of you. You’re not just an investment. Not either one of you.”

Dean’s eyebrows go up. That doesn’t make any sense to him. Somehow he feels like he’s intruding into a part of Castiel’s psyche that he really shouldn’t be. But he says, “I don’t get it. Man, you basically told me last time this happened that you’d prefer putting her down and getting me a new horse!”

Castiel startles. “What?” He looks so shocked and offended that Dean nearly laughs. But he doesn’t because this has been their biggest contention for a long time. And nothing about it is funny. As much as Dean’s attracted to Castiel, he can’t bring himself to be with someone who thinks of living things as disposable objects. He so badly wants to be wrong.

Castiel leans against the stall door and slides his legs out, heedless of the hay and dirt he’s getting on his pants. He looks almost mournful. “It’s that what you’ve thought about me all this time?”

Dean can’t bring himself to answer. Going by the look on Castiel’s face, he feels a might stupid for ever having thought it.

Castiel shakes his head vigorously. “I would never. Not ever. Animals have a right to life and happiness, even after they’ve retired from their jobs. Especially Baby. She was the first and only horse that I helped birth.”

Now, that _is_ a surprise. “I never knew that,” he says, relieved by Castiel’s words and ashamed he’d wasted so much time hating the guy for something that wasn’t even true. Fuck, but he hopes Castiel can forgive him.

It appears he does, because he brushes off the misunderstanding like it was never there now that it’s cleared up. He lovingly stroking Baby’s nose. She snorts and puts her head right in his lap. Dean swallows his smile before it can get away from him. “Yes. My father said that the only way that I could truly appreciate how our business operated was to see it from the very beginning. So, ten years ago when Baby was born, I was there. I was the one who helped her out of her mother. Cleaned her off. Helped her feed.” His eyes are bright and unwavering when he looks straight at Dean. “I loved her, Dean. She was...” he shakes his head again, glancing back down at the horse staring up at him from his legs. “She is the most precious animal I’ve ever known.”

That’s something they can absolutely agree on. But he’s terrible with words. All he can find to say to urge on the story is, “man, I agree.”

After a moment of affection petting Baby, Castiel continues. “She was from the best stock we’d ever had at the ranch. Her parents were award-winning competitors. So, on some level I knew what that meant. I knew she’d be sold for a premium. It was the only way. But I fell in love with her, anyway. I raised her and trained her until she was ready to be sold. Bonded with her. When it was time...” he clears his throat, and sounds even more wobbly. “When it was time for her to go to Bobby, I begged my father to let me keep her. But it was impossible. I understood it. I hated it. I didn’t want to feel that way ever again. Constant love and loss... it...”

“Sucked?” Dean supplies weakly.

Castiel smiles. “Right. It sucked. After that, I did what I could away from the animals. You can’t be sad if you don’t get close enough to bond.”

Ridiculously, Dean is struck with an acute ache for Castiel. He’s almost sorry he bought her now. Sure, he’s loved her better than anyone else could, if he’s being full of himself. And he is. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. Not sure why, but he is. He absolutely is.

Castiel looks up again. “Don’t be!” he says quickly. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel ashamed.” He laughs shortly, self-deprecating. Baby’s ears perk up. “In fact, I don’t know why I’m telling you this at all.”

“Thanks,” Dean says roughly. “I kinda... get you now. But I’ve done good by Baby.” He reaches out to stroke her nose, fingers brushing over Castiel’s hand, and happy when the other man doesn’t pull away from him. “And I’m sorry I accused you of being... y’know. A murderer and all. I’ve never been so glad to be wrong about anything in my life.”

“Dean, I-” Castiel sucks in a breath.

Dean finds himself leaning closer. “Yeah, Cas?”

“I don’t want to fight with you all the time. I think... I think there are...” His voice trails off, quieter and quieter.

“Tell me what you think,” Dean murmurs, eyes flicking down to Castiel’s mouth.

“I think there are better things we could be doing,” Castiel whispers.

Slowly, Dean reaches up and tips up the brim of his hat with his thumb.

It’s an offer. Permission. Castiel closes the distance and kisses him. Then it’s kind of like he can’t stop. Kind of like Dean doesn’t want him to. It never occurred to him that Castiel might just be fantastic at taking him apart, but he sure is enjoying the lesson. He comes at Dean like a man on a mission, tongue and teeth until the first urge is sated. Then it’s sweet and careful like a first kiss should be, only without the awkward hesitation. Castiel Milton may have hesitated a lot getting to this point, but now that he’s here, he’s a master of his own destiny.

Dean appreciates it, really because he’s muddled from shock and medication, so all he’s capable of is following along. Willingly. Enthusiastically. In fact, he really likes the soft and repeated meeting of their lips. Over and over until everything not good is just a distant memory.

Castiel pulls back first, cupping Dean’s face and giving him a sternly adoring look. “You can’t stay here tonight. You’re injured.”

Dean smiles, unwilling to fight the softness of it. “My brother gave me a curfew.”

“You can... come to my room.” He stands and holds his hand out to help Dean up. “If you want to?”

Dean sways closer. He really wants to. “You sure?”

“Baby will be fine,” he says. “She’s been tranquilized so she doesn’t try to move around too much. She’ll sleep for hours, and Bobby will be back to check on her every now and then. I made him promise.”

Dean rests his good arm over Castiel’s shoulder, sifting his fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “Y’know, I can’t even remember why I didn’t like you. Feels like a million years ago,” he says with a starry-eyed grin.

Castiel’s eyes narrow. “Did they give you narcotics in the hospital?” He whips Dean’s hat off. “Let me see your pupils.”

Dean bats his hands away. “You’re killing the mood,” he whines.

“You can’t give proper informed consent if you’re as high as a kite.”

“You think I’m high because I said I didn’t hate you anymore?”

“Yes,” Castiel exhales. Then quickly, “no! No, I... I don’t want you to want this just because I do.”

That certainly sours some of Dean’s ardor. “Dude, I’m hardly that weak-minded. And even if I wasn’t, sex isn’t a lifetime commitment.”

Castiel steps out of the stall in front of Dean. “It can be,” he says quietly. “For some people.”

Dean doesn’t like this pseudo-running away that Castiel is doing. They’ll never get anywhere with it, so he hobbles out too and grabs Castiel’s arm. “Hey. Does ‘some people’ mean you?”

“Maybe,” Castiel hedges.

“Okay,” Dean answers, like he’s putting the puzzle together one tiny piece at a time. “So, why do you even want me, then? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a busted up cowboy, and kind of a dick.”

Castiel crosses his arms over his chest, a bit of that defiant form back. “I hope you aren’t expecting me to argue with that.”

Dean barks a laugh. “Not really, no. I say what I mean.”

A smile is breaking out again. “Good, because then I’d be lyi-”

“Okay, big guy,” Dean interrupts loudly. “We doing this or not?”

“I would very much like to do this with you, yes.”

Dean slaps his hat back on. Sweeps his arm out dramatically. “After you.”

“I think not.” Castiel grabs Dean’s hand and doesn’t let go the entire walk to the room. He doesn’t let go when he fumbles trying to get the keycard out of his wallet one handed. And he definitely doesn’t let go when he pulls Dean into the room and kisses him again. But he does let go when Dean says they both stink and should probably bathe. Wouldn’t want to get the sheets the wrong kind of dirty, after all.

Castiel agrees wholeheartedly. He also insists that Dean tell Sam where he is so he doesn’t worry.

“He’s probably gonna worry even more knowing I’m with you,” Dean quips, but he still sends off a text before tossing his phone to the coffee table and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Castiel touches his hand. “I’d like to do that,” he says. “You need to rest your arm as much as possible.”

“Good call,” Dean murmurs.

With that go-ahead, Castiel steps closer into Dean’s space and takes the cowboy’s hat off. He puts it on the table and asks, “is it safe to take the sling off?”

“Only if you wanna wash my hair and stuff for me,” Dean winks.

“I plan to,” Castiel says solemnly. “You can’t get your cast wet, anyway.”

Grinning wider, Dean presses forward to layer kiss after kiss along Castiel’s full lips. Takes his time to meander over his jaw and the soft spots on his neck. Castiel shivers with a lovely breathy moan. Dean can feel him tensing to keep still, whether in deference to the injuries, or just wanting Dean to keep doing what he’s doing. Either way works quite nicely.

Then Castiel shifts on his feet bringing their groins into contact, and Dean unconsciously bites down on Castiel’s neck with a loud moan at the feeling of Castiel’s obvious hardness against his.

Castiel gasps in response and then his fingers fly to get into action. He undoes the clasp for the sling, only letting their bodies separate far enough to slip it off of Dean’s arm carefully. It gets added to his belongings on the table. He deftly undoes the buttons on his shirt, only to get stalled when it won’t fit easily over the cast. His kiss-swollen lips press into such an unattractive pout that Dean laughs.

Castiel blinks at him moodily. “Why did you even put this shirt back on? _How_ did you?”

“I can’t walk around in my underwear,” Dean drawls teasingly. “That’d be undignified.”

Dolefully, Castiel tugs carefully at the shirt as it allows itself to be wiggled over the hot pink cast. “We’re not bathing with our clothes on,” he grouches.

Dean swiftly kisses Castiel’s pout because it’s pretty damn gorgeous, but he isn’t nice enough to help with his own clothes since he’s mightily enjoying the grump. “Gotta find a way to turn that frown upside down,” he says.

The words are almost enough to do it, but it doesn’t count when the smile stays almost completely in his eyes and the deepening crow’s feet around them. “You can try. What do you have in mind?”

Dean’s still fairly adept at doing things with only one hand, so he can almost keep pace with Castiel on getting naked. Not like he needs much prompting. But he definitely falls behind once Castiel’s shirt hits the floor because there’s a broad, muscled chest under there that didn’t come from a desk job. No matter what, Dean’s sure he would have been impressed, but surprises are nice. And he can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch. It’s probably unfair that he flattens his palm over Castiel’s pecs and thumbs over a nipple because that little move completely derails whatever Castiel was about to do. Instead, he moans.

“Sensitive,” Dean marvels.

“Not naked yet,” Castiel returns breathlessly. He guides them towards the bathroom with new urgency, but the utmost care. Dean is left to his own devices for a minute while Castiel turns on the taps and gets the water to a comfortable temperature. The tub is large and clean, and it’ll be easier to wash without getting his cast wet, so Dean doesn’t protest. Just gingerly removes his undershirt and unbuckles his belt.

Castiel is back then, shucking off the rest of his own clothes with unabashed determination.

Dean wants to make a quip, or give Castiel a compliment, or say anything at all to ease the pressure in his chest, but there’s no chance because once he’s fully naked, Castiel plants his hands on Dean’s hips and lifts him up onto the counter like it’s nothing.

And that right there turns Dean on so much that he forgets nearly all the words in the English language except for, “whoa.”

Castiel grins as if that was the exact reaction he’d been hoping for. “Is it safe to take off the boot?”

Dean yanks Castiel between his legs and gives him a thorough and deep kiss for his thoughtfulness. “Yeah, it’s only a hairline fracture, so I can hobble a little without it.”

Castiel is still impossibly gentle as he unhooks the clasps and slips it off of his foot. The jeans and boxers come off together, and while the cold counter isn’t doing much for his ass, Castiel’s hand reverently stroking his dick is making up for pretty much everything ever.

Of course, it’s even better when Dean’s fingers wander down to fondle Castiel’s balls and Castiel jerks closer, mouth finding Dean’s neck. He licks a stripe from his ear to his shoulder and doesn’t bite, but actually starts to nibble. It’s not painful; it’s almost ticklish, but somehow Castiel finds a spot where every bite of pressure sends tingling stars up Dean’s neck to his scalp. It’s almost as amazing as the perfect pressure of his hand working over his dick languidly.

“We doing this here?” Dean murmurs, not complaining, as he lightly scratches his nails over Castiel’s scalp, from the base of his skull to the crown of his head.

Castiel moans in appreciation, scooting himself closer so that their dicks are pressed into the hollows of their hips, which feels even more amazing. “We don’t want any fluids in the bath water.” Saying something like that should kill the mood, but Castiel’s voice is so low and wrecked that it still sounds sexy. “Also,” he continues, flexing his thighs and rolling his hips into Dean’s, “bathroom sex is dangerous.”

Dean laughs at that, but uses his good hand to grab at Castiel’s firm ass, dragging him closer. “I ride the rodeo circuit for a living.” He throws his head back, gasping when a twist of Castiel’s wrist sends a shock wave through him. He’s not going to be long for this world if Castiel keeps doing that. So of course Castiel keeps doing that.

But he’s clearly not the only one in this predicament because Castiel’s hips lose their rhythm for a second, then he’s thrusting harder. Dean shoves himself to the very edge of the counter, and that’s the ticket right there. Castiel abandons the hand job in favor of latching onto Dean’s hips. He blinks up at Dean, lips parted, eyes glazed. Dean can’t stand not kissing him in that moment, so he does. It’s wet and messy and he can feel it in his very core.

He comes first, groaning and accidentally biting down on Castiel’s bottom lip, but it only makes Castiel buck his hips a few more times before he comes too, some muddled form of Dean’s name getting scrambled up in his mouth.

They’re both stuck in the aftermath, heaving breaths and small kisses. Dean wraps his legs around Castiel’s waist to keep him close when he moves to give them a cursory wipe down with his undershirt that got thrown into the sink. Even better because Castiel uses the leverage to lift Dean up and carry him the few steps to the tub. Carefully he sets Dean on his feet and climbs in first, shutting off the taps, grabbing the removable shower head, and gesturing for Dean to follow.

“You’re really fucking spoiling me, man,” Dean grins, taking Castiel’s hand and stepping into the water, bad foot first.

Castiel takes his weight so he doesn’t put too much pressure on his bad foot. They stand facing each other. “I’m investing in your health.”

Which is so far from where they started that Dean can’t even articulate it properly. In the space of little more than a weekend, Castiel has gone from number cruncher to... well to a much bigger investment than client and sponsor. “I don’t mind being spoiled.”

Castiel sinks down, resting his back against the tiled wall. Dean follows him down gingerly, sitting in his lap, keeping his cast draped over the lip of the tub. “Good, because I meant it when I said I was going to wash you.”

Dean leans forward far enough that Castiel can lather the shampoo into his hair. “You know I’ve never bathed with anyone before?”

Castiel smiles, moving onto his own hair after a thorough scalp massage. “That does actually surprise me.” Dean flips the switch on the shower head, soaking his head and “accidentally” spraying Castiel in the face. He splutters, grappling for the shower head to clean himself. “You’re also very childish,” he coughs.

“I believe in negative reinforcement to teach better behavior,” Dean says primly.

Castiel laughs. “Is your ego really that fragile?”

“Not even close,” Dean chuckles. “I guess I haven’t gotten over pissing you off forever yet.”

“That’s fair,” Castiel says consideringly as he soaps up the loofah. He’s gentle the whole time, and Dean starts to wish that his shoulder hadn’t been dislocated because he suspects Castiel gives a hell of a shoulder massage. But the washing is good enough that it starts to make him lazy and mildly sleepy. “As long as I can retaliate, you can do what you want.”

“You really wanna leave yourself wide open like that?”

Castiel kisses the shell of Dean’s ear. Low and soft, he murmurs, “yes, I do.”

Dean leans back fully against Castiel’s body again, soaking, syncing his breathing with him.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Castiel says with warm humor. “I realize that I showed off earlier, but I don’t think that I can carry you all the way to the bed.”

“No worries,” Dean yawns.

They stop talking for a time, enjoying the water. Enjoying each other. Castiel’s hands roam freely over Dean’s body, teasing the dips and memorizing the firm muscles. He’s also quite responsible, so when the water starts to cool too much, he drags himself and Dean out of the tub and drains the water. He brings an extra set of pajamas to the bathroom while Dean finishes drying off so that he won’t have to hobble too far without the boot. Once dressed and comfortable, Castiel even turns down the sheets for Dean. He effortlessly curls against Dean’s side, clearly at ease with this sort of thing.

Dean tries not to think about how different it is for him, as he takes a few minutes to get used to having someone right beside him, as nice as it is. He finally shoves his arm under the pillow and Castiel’s neck, idly playing with his hair.

Castiel sighs in contentment. He murmurs intimately when he speaks. “Was this really your last rodeo?”

Dean hums. Blinks at the ceiling, watching the intermittent lights washing over it from outside. “Yeah,” he answers eventually, just as intimate. “I think I am done. Sucks going down with a disqualification in my final event, but I don’t think I can take many more hits like that.”

“I was scared for you,” Castiel admits, burrowing closer. “You went down, and for a minute you didn’t get back up, and I... Dean, I was scared.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers, though he doesn’t owe him that. It just feels better for both of them.

“I’m glad you’re okay. And I’m glad Baby is okay, too.”

“Same,” Dean answers. “Thanks for that, okay? Seeing someone there with her? It really eased my mind. It was all I could do to get out of the hospital and back to her.” He can feel Castiel’s smile curve against his neck. “Even my brother couldn’t stop me from checking on her.”

“He probably chose the lesser of two evils,” Castiel muses lightly. “It was either let you go directly there or have you sneak out in the middle of the night.”

Dean laughs. “I’m that easy to read, even for you, huh?”

“You’re very obvious about the things you love. That’s not a bad thing,” Castiel says.

“It’s one of my finer qualities,” Dean agrees.

Castiel kisses Dean on the shoulder. Then he goes still in increments. Dean waits it out. He’s known Castiel to be reticent, but never avoidant. His patience pays off a few minutes later.

“So,” Castiel says with false casualness. “After you’ve recovered, and perhaps had a proper vacation, would you consider a lucrative job offer? It would require relocation from Texas, though.”

Dean starts to smile as something warm begins to unfurl in his chest. Something that he’s not entirely adverse to relocating for. Eventually. Then again, Castiel being who he is, could have something totally different in mind. To be sure, he says, “depends. Where’d I be relocating to?”

“Wyoming,” Castiel says. “Whitewood could use someone like you. With some contract renegotiations, of course.”

Testing the waters further, Dean says, “y’know, Sam has mentioned wanting to move somewhere with actual seasons. Sky’s the limit for him once I retire.”

“Maybe in six months or so...” he trails off.

Dean picks up the thread without missing a beat. “I’d have time to think about it. Sam could job hunt in the area...”

“And we could see if this goes anywhere,” Castiel finishes.

“Don’t mind the sound of that,” Dean says.

Castiel loops his arm over Dean’s chest. “I’d like to see,” he whispers.

Dean closes his eyes. “Me, too.”

It’s a lot to go over, but life changes tend to be that way regardless. Dean counts it as a win when his brain doesn’t start racing with anxiety and possibilities at once to keep him awake all night, but simply settles on the offer and falls asleep quickly.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Castiel sleeps deeply and undisturbed until just after seven in the morning when there’s a light knock on the door. He extracts himself carefully from Dean, shuffles to the door, and opens it to find Sam there with coffee, doughnuts, a prescription bag, and a shit-eating grin. “Good morning, Sam,” Castiel says, rubbing his eyes.

Unabashedly, Sam peeks around Castiel’s shoulder into the room. “Had to see for myself it was really true,” he grins. “But since Dean wasn’t sleeping in the stables with Baby, I was intrigued.” He thrusts his offerings forward and Castiel takes them. He steps aside to let Sam in, but Sam holds up a hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve leave y’all to your morning after. I was just making sure.”

Partially grateful that Dean has such a wonderful brother, and partially because it’s too early in the morning to process anything fully, before Sam walks away, Castiel blurts, “I asked Dean to consider coming to work on my family’s ranch in six months.”

Sam doesn’t react for a second. Then his mouth forms an “O” of surprise.

“He said he’d think about it,” he rushes to add.

The surprise fades to knowing amusement. “Huh.”

Castiel butts his toe against the door stop, staring at the carpet. “I thought you should know,” he mutters. “Dean mentioned that you may not be averse to job hunting in Wyoming as well.” When Sam does nothing but grin even wider, Castiel mutters, “I have a lot of contacts in law, if you’d like them.”

Beaming, Sam pats Castiel on the shoulder. “Yeah, no, thanks for... um... telling me and everything. I’m not really married to Texas. So, like... did Dean seem happy about the offer?”

“He seemed genuine in his desire to consider it.”

“That means yes,” Sam laughs. “Okay, sure. I mean, I’ll definitely talk to him about it. And, uh, guess that means you have a standing invitation in Texas whenever you like. I won’t mind.”

Castiel looks up, searching Sam’s face. There’s nothing but sincerity there. “Really?”

Sam shrugs, starting to back away from the door in deference to Castiel’s embarrassment. “I like Wyoming. Just... I hope you make each other happy.” He gives a little wave and turns before Castiel can say anything in return.

With a small smile, Castiel shuts the door and turns to put the breakfast on the coffee table, but aborts the movement when he sees that Dean is awake and watching him from the bed. “Good morning,” Castiel says, feeling his face go hot.

“Y’know,” Dean drawls, holding his hand out for the food, “this is a start. I got a good feeling about this.”

Castiel comes to the bed and deposits the medication and doughnuts on the comforter. He hands Dean his coffee, watching him in the early sunlight as he takes his first taste. And he prays that this is the first of many similar mornings. Giving in to the urge, he leans forward, kisses Dean, and says, “same.”


End file.
